


Ah, shit.

by DropshipAlpha



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Constructive crit accepted please PLEASE tell me how i can make this better if you have suggestions, Im just gonna add tags as i go, Im so freaking bad at this HOLY, It's a lot cooler than it sounds, Just a universe where souls are manipulatable, Kinda, M/M, Maybe i guess youre the judge of that right, PTSD John, Thats what got them into this whole mess, Thats what youre here for, Why else would i write a ship fic, abandoned work, there will eventually be porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:45:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5558387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropshipAlpha/pseuds/DropshipAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe where souls can be shared between two people and bond them together forever John Watson accidentally does just that with the most insufferable man on earth. Now he has to go through daily life feelings ghosts of emotion and pain from someone who couldn't care less about his own wellbeing and who probably likes to watch John suffer. The only problem is that it's staring to get hard to tell if the hints of affection and attraction are coming from him or his flatemate, who may not be such a prick after all. </p>
<p>DISCONTINUED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, uh, yeah! There goes. Super short but I'll do some more soon so stay tuned if it interests you. If you leave a comment it'll motivate me to get my shit together faster and update more frequently. Please leave some constructive criticism if there's anything I need to work on! You're the best, see you next update!

Honestly, there was no reason for John to even be here in the first place. 

He'd decided to spend his lunch hour away from the clinic in order to walk down to the new kiosk selling fresh crepes on the street corner. It definitely wasn't something he normally did. But maybe he wouldn't have bothered at all if his alarm hadn't decided not to go off that morning and leave him a half hour late getting up with no time to fix himself any lunch to take with him.

Now, John wouldn't say he believed in any sort of fate, even if he liked to fathom the idea on occasion, but as he stood just a few feet away from a man that had fallen out of the sky and now had what was probably half his brain splattered on the concrete around his head, well it was hard to think it was just coincidence. 

It only took a moment for John's circuits to realign and all of a sudden he was back in Afghanistan, saving some poor soul who had been on the wrong end of a bullet. He crouched next to the man and assessed his injuries like he was reading a report. Head trauma, possibly some broken bones in other parts of the body, split scalp and probably a cracked skull. Red tag, needing immediate assistance. Looking around John realized he was the only one actually capable of providing that assistance. There was a passerby on their mobile nearby, probably talking to the police, but everyone else had made a wide circle around them and they all seemed frozen in place. He was this stranger's only hope.

Immediately, he set to work. His hands moved quickly and methodically but he soon realized that the once steady sureness of his fingers had become rushed, panicky, sloppy movements. He couldn't even get his clumsy fingertips to grasp the slippery strands of hair around the splits in the man's scalp, much less tie them together. As his fingers slipped and slid so did his composure. The ambulance wouldn't arrive in time and John could almost feel the man's soul leeching out of his body through the cracks in his skull along with the blood that seeped into the rough concrete around him. His anxiety grew with every second until he was in full blown panic mode. So many times he'd lost people out on the field and every single one of those faces came back later in the nightmares that jolted him awake to shovel another scoop of dirt into the grave where his sanity lie.

Everyone told him that when it happened it would be completely instinctual. Another soul grasping onto the offered piece of himself with gentle acceptance as it also gave him back the same thing. A mutual exchange that couldn't be done without complete consent from either party. He wouldn't even realize it was really happening, he'd been told. But now John found that that was a damn lie, because nothing could have prepared him for the searing pain that ripped through his chest as a piece of what made him John Watson was ripped away with greedy hands grasping at any sort of lifeline in its reach. He didn't even realize he'd made that sort of offer to the weakened soul laid out in front of him. But there was no time to take back the offer and no time to regret it either as the concrete rushed up and smacked him in the face just before blankness overtook his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter this time! I hope you all enjoy!  
> This chapter would not have been possible without my lovely beta razorwireshrine over there on tumblr. Shower her with love and praise she is fantastic.  
> It's the same drill, though. If you see anything I could do better please tell me and hopefully I'll see you next update!

Coming to in a hospital wasn't exactly something new. Late nights at the clinic with not enough food and too little sleep made him wake up in strange places around his workplace. The smell of antiseptic and hand sanitizer was a scent he wore on his skin like perfume every time he went home.

However waking up in a hospital room with an IV drip attached to his arm as it leeched fluids and painkillers into his parched bloodstream was something else entirely. As his head unfogged and he took in his surroundings he became aware of a feeling of companionship, like having an old friend in the room with him even though the chairs and space around him were empty. It was comforting, however, and John was too disoriented to deny it.

He began checking himself over on autopilot. Inspection of his limbs proved that he wasn't in for any sort of broken bones or bodily trauma. He felt around his head with tentative fingers and found a small piece of gauze taped to his forehead. Prodding it proved that it didn't hurt all that much and he didn't have a headache or any concussion symptoms. The injury wasn't severe enough to put him in a hospital bed so, what? There was blood staining the cracks where his fingernails met skin. 

It was at that moment the memories came flooding back, every single picture played at once. The man falling, John jumping to help him, his panic and-

Oh god. What had John done?

The panic back then was nothing compared to the sheer regret and fear he felt now. He'd been told time and time again, hell, everyone had it schooled into their brains that sharing souls was not something to be taken lightly. The act was as permanent as things got, the only way to separate the bond was death. But even then the other person would die too, no one could live with half a soul. But in a moment of desperation John had went and given such an important and personal part of him to a complete stranger. Yes, the stranger was obviously alive but what kind of madman gives a separable-by-death bond to someone who was obviously suicidal to a degree. Probably insane too, seeing as he'd chosen to jump right into a crowd of people who would never forget the experience.

John took a moment to allow himself to calm down. This wasn't the end of the world. Perhaps they could make it work somehow? Maybe the man had a change of heart on his way down. That happened with people all the time. Maybe they could be good friends and could ignore the whole shared souls thing. It wasn't all that special anyway. People who'd chosen to share their souls with each other only reported being able to feel each other's pain, though admittedly fainter than the person that was suffering. Some emotions would be shared along the bond and transferred between each other. There was also the constant comfort and completeness that came with being together in the same space. And it wasn't like they had to share the same space at every moment of the day. They could be as far apart as they liked, the only side effect being a slight anxiety. And, of course, there was always the death pact but as long as neither of them died it could work out. 

Yes, they could make this work. Even if they parted and became nothing more than strangers in the crowd to each other it could work. John would make it work.

But under all the optimism he tried to flood through his system there was still the underlying feeling of regret. He supposed this was how teenage girls felt after giving it away on prom night under the influence of several kinds of alcohol, waking up in their date's bed and feeling like they needed to scrub the entire experience off their skin. 

And there was always the fact that the man had suffered head injuries that should have killed him. Of course, they would have if John hadn't stepped in but now he was going to be stuck feeling it every step of the way along with the stranger.

John really hoped the man liked taking painkillers.

A nurse eventually showed up to check on him and told him that he'd be able to leave soon. She then informed him that it would take longer for his bondmate to leave but she was glad that he'd be staying with someone with medical expertise.

Just hearing the title spoken so casually made John's stomach roll. It was a term used to describe two shared souls within a marriage, but John definitely was not interested in pursuing any sort of relationship like that with the man at all. He was not into men and wasn't interested in experimentation.

“That bond is the only thing that saved him, you know. If you'd like to see him, you can go as soon as you're discharged.”

The entire thing felt too surreal. Before the nurse could leave he made a grab for her arm and got a handful of her sleeve in his grasp. She looked taken aback for a second before regaining her composure and giving him a friendly smile. 

“What's his name? The man I saved, I mean.” 

She thought for a few seconds. “Ah, yes. Sherlock Holmes, I think.”

John was sure he'd heard that name before but he couldn't recall where. He could only manage to nod dumbly as the nurse finished up and left him alone again.

Though he wasn't really alone anymore, was he?

John took steady deep breaths, trying to calm the storm inside his head. No doubt his new… friend could feel the fear coming from him and that's not something anyone should have to deal with when they wake up from something like that. 

The idea of seeing the man interested John, though. John couldn't remember much of what he looked like, the memories too clipped and blurred together. He'd been in army doctor mode. The way his patient looked hadn't matter in the slightest. The only thing he was focused on was not letting another person's life, relationships, hobbies, talents, and personality slip through into nothingness like what had happened so many times before. Many people admired his dedication to saving his patients but considering that was what got him in this situation in the first place he wasn't so sure he felt the same. Though the memories were hazy, he could remember trying to grasp black curly locks between his fingers, and the contrast of dark blood on pale skin. 

_

As soon as John was cleared to leave he changed out of the drafty hospital gown into his work clothes again. There was some blood dotting the sleeves but it was nothing he couldn't cover by rolling them up to his elbows. Luckily his jacket had suffered the worst of the gore and he left it draped over his arms as he strode to the room number he'd been given by a frazzled nurse running on caffeine and willpower. It was in the recovery ward and he was warned that the man in interest wouldn't be awake. Normally no one would be able to see him. It wasn't visiting hours and he needed to rest, but there were exceptions for bondmates.

Nurses paid him no mind as they flitted around him and he blended into the blank white walls of the corridor, only decorated by the closed doors of the patients.

The door he was looking for in question wasn't closed, but left open. Upon further inspection there was already a man in there. He stood at the foot of the bed with his hands clasped behind his back and stared at Sherlock like someone might stare at a ruined dinner. Disappointed, but not too distraught. John didn't understand how the other man had managed to get by the nurses at this hour. Family, no matter how close shouldn't be allowed in. When he finally turned to look at John it was only then that John realized he'd been standing in the doorway staring at the stranger. The smile that was thrown in his direction was anything but sincere and he was immediately put slightly on edge. The man radiated self importance and looked at John as if he were no more than a scuff on his expensive floor, something to clean away before anyone important could see.

“Are you going to stand out there all night or are you going to come in and see the man you stole half a soul from?” John wasn't sure how the man knew he was the one who shared souls with Sherlock, but he supposed it wasn't too hard to figure out. Who else would they let in here at this time? Well, except this man apparently. 

“What prompted you to take advantage of my brother when he was dying in the street like that?” Ah, this person was Sherlock's brother. Bloody fantastic. 

“Straight to the point it seems,” John replied, trying to lighten the mood even if it was only fractionally. “I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I told you it was accidental.”

His brows drew together slightly more as he turned his gaze back on John. “Something like this doesn't happen accidentally, John Watson.”

John had no idea how this stranger had found out his name, but he wouldn't allow himself to be intimidated. Instead he huffed a weak laugh, knowing full well he was walking thin ice with this person. “Yes, well apparently you can.” 

This only seemed to piss off Sherlock's brother further. “Yes, well perhaps you hanging around isn't the best of ideas. My little brother isn't one for making friends. Whatever it is you want from him, I'd advise you not to pursue it.” With that, he left John without any warning, leaving nothing but the beeping of Sherlock's machines to fill the empty air. John was glad to see him leave. The tension followed him out of the room and created a lifeless atmosphere in its wake. It took him a minute to relax again, no doubt the proximity to… the other half of his soul made it easier for the stiffness to leave his posture and for him to settle back down again.

It was the first time he'd taken a good look at the man he was bonded to since he'd stepped into the room and it was what he was expecting to see. The man who held that other half of him was asleep. His head was covered with bandages that wrapped all the way around his head. It was uneven in places where gauze was layered but no blood seeped through. No hair poked out from under the wrappings and it left him looking almost comical. Though, now that John thought about it it was completely possible they just shaved it off completely, especially if surgery had been required. 

Sherlock may have been resting, but he definitely didn't look peaceful. His brows were pinched ever so slightly and dark circles layered the space under his eyes. Wrinkles were carved into places uncostumary for someone as young as he looked. His cheekbones protruded too much to just be the cause of genetics, even with a face as angular as his. John scanned the one arm that wasn't encased in a cast and was surprised to find no sort of self harming scars. At least not the usual kind. There were scars but they didn't look self inflicted. Eating disorder maybe? That seemed likely if the man's bony elbows and gangly limbs had any say. It was also very possible that this man was an addict. It would be impossible to tell until John could see what he was like awake. Though John supposed it didn't matter. He'd help the man whatever way he could, even if it was just to ensure his own survival and comfort.

An IV drip kept him numb to the pain that would no doubt be racking his skull if it wasn’t pumping anesthetic into his bloodstream, and for that John was grateful. He had no idea how much of it would be transferred to him and loathed the moment it would wear off. Checking the clock hung high up on the wall near the telly proved it to be a little past one in the morning. Neither of them had been there very long, but to John it felt like days.

There was a chart hanging near the door and despite John's respect for privacy he couldn't help but peek at the pages held together by a metal clip at the top of the board. A few lines down from the patient name revealed that the only thing Sherlock Holmes suffered was a cracked skull and lacerations of the scalp as well as a broken right arm and cracked ribs as well as a ruptured kidney. Lucky. But if John hadn't stepped in the man would have surely died from external blood loss as well as minor internal bleeding. The page underneath listed allergies and the type of anesthetic and antibiotics being administered.

John released the page and watched it float back down and rest on the page beneath it. He was overstaying his welcome. His presence was no doubt keeping nurses from coming in and doing their job. Unless something serious came up it was unlikely they'd interrupt him.

John just sighed and strode out of the room. He wasn't particularly tired after all the sleep he'd gotten in his hospital bed, but he did have work tomorrow and hunger roiled in his stomach and made him testy. He left his mobile number and told the nurse to call him when Sherlock woke up. After assuring him that yes, they definitely would he headed out and hailed a cab.

As soon as he was in the familiarity of his small apartment he called the clinic and explained what had happened, promising to be there in the morning. They assured him it was fine and hung up after telling him they hoped he felt better. Then he made himself a quick meal and showered, telling himself that he would not become dependent on Sherlock Holmes for comfort, no matter how much the emptiness in his chest said otherwise.

_

The days after that blurred together. John always kept his mobile nearby, just in case. Even though it was very unlikely for Sherlock to wake up so soon, stranger things had happened and life was proving rather unpredictable lately. He remembered the warning he'd been given from the man claiming to be Sherlock's brother, but he decided to pay it no mind. He'd been treated like he was harboring some ulterior motive, which he wasn't. Besides, John couldn't be hurt or killed without hurting or killing Sherlock so he supposed he was in the clear.

It was on his day off one day, a while later that his mobile trilled with the alert of an oncoming call. He'd been relaxing on his couch watching crap telly mostly just to pass the time before he started getting ready for bed. There was only one person who would be calling him at such a time and he made a dash for his phone, attempting to tamp down the anxiety and excitement growing in his gut. 

Casual greetings were exchanged before the sentence that made John retrieve his shoes and start pulling them on his feet was spoken by the pleasant voice on the other side of the receiver. 

“Yes, he's awake.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, uh, yeah! There goes. Super short but I'll do some more soon so stay tuned if it interests you. If you leave a comment it'll motivate me to get my shit together faster and update more frequently. Please leave some constructive criticism if there's anything I need to work on! You're the best, see you next update!


End file.
